


Metaphorically stuck as a sick cocoon  (It's not)

by TFALokiwriter



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And his idiots love him too, Bittersweet, Happy Ending, Heartwarming, Illnesses, M/M, McCoy loves his two idiots, Nightmare Fuel, Soup, Soup saves the day!, Vulcan Kisses, illness recovery, semi-original illness ripped out of SG-1, sick!Bones, soup is good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-01-31 06:17:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12676086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TFALokiwriter/pseuds/TFALokiwriter
Summary: What it says on the tin. Idea came from my brain being lazy then morphed with a sequence of events.





	Metaphorically stuck as a sick cocoon  (It's not)

McCoy opened the door to his house with his duffle bag on one shoulder feeling lethargic. His fingers were sore. His eyes felt heavy, prepared to close, and have a good nights rest. Ten years in space, one after the other, had taken a toll. He closed the door behind him. His home was based in a cul-de-sac that had the same design in most of the housings. Different from the large tower structures called ‘Gates’ starting from the millennium gate that had several apartment complexes that automatically cleaned behind the residents. McCoy enjoyed a home that he could clean after not with the familiar automatic doing the work for him. He closed the door behind him. The door clicked. Old fashioned 21st century doors, made clicks depending how the door was closed, and had locks unlike most now-a-day doors.

The fight had left him once nearing Earth. Hearing news that something had gone wrong between Spock and Kirk, both going their separate ways, was distressing. Let alone from Chekov, more heartbroken than anyone, that his role model was leaving Star Fleet. Effectively immediately. Spock to Vulcan, and Kirk to planet side as a Vice Admiral. Trapped in a desk duty that he would hate. McCoy figured he would get around to protesting against it after a quick nap. The tension in his muscles, the exhaustion, and the slow pace he lead down the hall letting the duffle bag collapse to the floor with a soft thud. A part of him couldn’t believe it was over. Two five year missions. Making sure that his found family was live to see another day. Making sure that two lovable nerds got together, wooed each other, and attempted dating one of them upon the other’s encouragement after they had been wooed. Successfully. That crashed and fell because of touch. Vulcan’s courted through touch. And McCoy, as a doctor, had to touch others. McCoy ended the courting after the Capella away mission and they remained close colleagues. Spock had indicated that he had understood the doctors choice. Frankly, McCoy was happy to see the two together.

Aside from the occasional abduction, the sometimes imposter, and medical science being weird with historic first contacts, the missions were historic. Historic enough that he felt honored to have been part of it. The energy that he once had  from the beginning of the second five year mission was gone. So tired. To think that he believed Spock and  Kirk would continue to serve in space without him let it be the neutral zone. A part of him should be angry. But he didn’t have the energy for that, either. McCoy opened the door to the bedroom. The brightness from the window briefly blinded him. The well made, kept bed that didn’t look any different from the last time he had seen it before joining Star Fleet and taking on xenobiology courses after the big divorce. He slipped off his shoes then collapsed into bed. The tension in his shoulders began to fade. His heavy eyes closed and he fell asleep.

* * *

"Kirk,” Nogura said, as he sat down. “I have to be frank with you.”

Kirk turned away from the window raising a eyebrow.

“About what?” Kirk asked.

Nogura sighed.

“There’s been a recent problem,” Nogura said. “Security officers who were on your command are.  . .”

“What?” Kirk’s attention was now entirely focused on the man. “Spit it out, Nogura.”

“Dead,” Nogura said. “They were resting in their quarters under their Doctor’s order for being sick."

"When they had a personal check up come up a few days later," Kirk said.

"That's how a contagion starts," Nogura said. "Not hearing from someone in days. Checking up on them. Something horrible be found. " The black admiral sighed. "When the doors opened, all that came out were _insects_ , Kirk.”  Kirk placed a hand onto the back rest of the chair. “That is just two security officers. We are busy finding a way to stop that. I saw the footage. There are insects you would only see in your nightmares.”

"I can imagine," Kirk said.

"That's why I set you up with a appointment," Nogura said. "Not taking any chances.”

Kirk picked up his maroon red jacket from the back of the chair.  
  
“I wasn’t bitten,” Kirk said. A dawned look landed on the admiral’s face. As though a lightbulb had gone off. “Mr Nogura, you should contact the Vulcan High Council and inform about Spock.” he walked around the man.  
  
“What?” Nogura asked, turning in the direction of Kirk.  “Why me?“  
  
“You didn't fake your death on Vulcan, now did you?”  Kirk said. 

"No," Nogura said. "Left a bitter taste in their mouths, I assume."

"And mine," Kirk said.

Nogura raised a suspicious eyebrow.  
  
“What happened with Spock?” Nogura asked. Kirk didn’t reply but stormed out of the room. "Kirk!"  The door closed behind him.  
  
Kirk took out  a communicator.  
  
“Kirk to Joanna McCoy,” The familiar beeps came over from the small object.

"Yes?" came a young woman's voice.

“Don’t go into your father's house," Kirk said.

"You don't have authority to tell me what to do about my father," Joanna said.

"By my authority as Vice Admiral," Kirk said. "This is a _medical emergency_ ,” the admiral stressed. “I just found out myself."

Joanna stopped in front of the door.

"Then how come my father hasn't called?" Joanna asked.

"Because there is a good chance that he may be dead and whatever is happen to him may happen to you," Kirk said. "Let the medical professionals handle it."

"I don't see any medical professionals lurking around the house," Joanna said. "This is a bad joke, Vice Admiral." It was dropped in a bitter tone.

"I will get to that," Kirk said. "Your father wouldn't want you to go in. Trust me."

"Like the way he did when he told you about the divorce?" Joanna asked. "How could you do that? You never asked his permission. It wasn't your story to tell," Kirk rubbed the back of his neck with a guilty look on his face. "And I am going to be the first one to give you what my father doesn't have the heart to do."

A slap to the face. Which, in all regards, was what frankly Kirk had expected from Christine after saving the day using the divorce story. It had come to him as a surprise not to be given that. Kirk had no options left when it came to that exact away mission. His story wasn't as damaging and emotionally hurtful. The anger and tearful emotions that were induced to let telepathic feeling based civilization let them go after a first contact gone wrong. He hadn't asked the doctor's permission to use it. McCoy didn't talk to Kirk for a entire week. Spock found it the most unusual.

"Thank you," Kirk said.  "I will see you there. Kirk out." then flipped the communicator closed.

* * *

Spock was guided into a white, four walled in quarters that were brighter than the one in Gol. He had been escorted by Vulcan officers to the nearest hospital. The room was unusually warm. There were windows that let in the blinds that were down. His mind was closed off from all forces. His mental barriers were up. He sat down onto a biobed with his hands clasped onto his lap. Something was going on. The only people he knew who would be determined on stopping his Kolinahr would be Kirk, McCoy, Sarek, and Amanda if they could.  He came to the conclusion that McCoy had a hand in this. Trying to make sure he didn’t make a ‘mistake’ that he would live to regret. Spock had no regrets coming to this decision. He awaited McCoy come into the room.  
  
Instead a in-training medical officer came in.  
  
“Mr Spock, we have to do some tests,” the dark officer carefully explained. “There’s a good chance that you might be ill with something from one of your previous away missions.”  
  
“Where is Doctor McCoy?” Spock asked.  
  
“Sorry, he is not your doctor anymore,” the dark officer said. "became that way after you left Star Fleet."  
  
“And you are from Star Fleet, are you not?” Spock inquired, noticing the light blue uniform. The dark officer straightened her jaw staring back at the Vulcan officer.  
  
“I am majoring in Vulcan Xenobiology,” the dark officer said.  “Sorry that you had to be dragged out of Kolinahr but this is a emergency,” the dark officer slid in a crate to the room. “Has to do with internal insects.”  
  
She took out a long, thin new object with a rounded center. Was this a new version of the medical tricorder? It had to be a internal body scanner. The dark officer scanned the Vulcan’s center, slowly, and methodically. She traveled the machine to areas below the head. His pointy ears were next. The sounds were familiar and hauntingly reminded him of sounds that he would not hear again in friendly company. The dark officer was silent. Spock discovered that he hated silence.  It was a entirely dislikable silence. No endearing insults about his physiology. The doctor’s treatment was preferable. Treatment that distracted him to what was going on around him. The dark officer took out a hypospray with a vile then placed it into the Vulcan’s exposed elbow to seep out bright green blood.

His mind jumped to what had been mentioned. Internal insects? He looked back at the away mission, that was weeks ago, that Lieutenant Uhura had been part of. She lead the team to speaking with a society that did not like machines. She was bitten by something and they made her drink a unique, fresh smelling but bitter soup even after the doctors protest. The insects were like ticks but hard to get off. It took rubbing a smelly yellow cream on the ticks to make them fall off. Spock then understood why the doctor talked during his check ups with the Vulcan, and any patient ever, was to keep their attention off. Make them think other things until they are laid on his biobed recovering or being ailed by _something_ that was inconvenient to them. A old fashioned, country doctor.  
  
The dark officer scanned the Vulcan’s eyes using what seemed to be a pair of medical binoculars. It briefly stung his eyes after the bright flash of light. His vision returned. The dark officer did test after test until all the items on the cart had been used. She slid the cart out of the room  after saying, “Please wait here, we will be right back after the blood work has been done.” In that time, Spock had recalled the doctor’s complaint about bugs aboard the Enterprise that were rampant after the visit. The bug bite remarks on the doctor’s uncovered arms. Star Fleet had to be aware of the bug bites.  Let alone---Kirk was already on it. Spock went through his memory of Kirk. No complaints about bugs, not a sight of bugs on him, and it was entirely odd. Perhaps the bugs were attracted to a specific type of blood. That was the logical assumption.

Spock was quite aware that the captain had a different type of blood compared to the doctor. Spock shared a unique Vulcan type of blood when it came to them. As a man of two worlds, it was easy to see differences with humanity and Vulcan serving on a Star Fleet vessel consisting mostly of humans---he wasn’t a federation officer. Not anymore.

The dark officer entered the room thirty-five minutes later, “Your tests came back clean--” only to look up and see that Spock wasn’t there.

* * *

McCoy’s eyes slowly opened to a film of what seemed to be layers of spider web blocking his visual within his eyes. The lethargic feeling was still there, oddly, enough. He had no feeling in his joints except for his head. He turned his head to see the colors of black and green between the fine, light gray strands. The doctor groaned watching the blurry colors moving. He remembered his bedroom was painted a shade of pink with brown furniture and black frames dangling on the wall with photographs of his family. McCoy had a rough idea that it had to be Spock. Who somehow entered his room. And his house. If he was here, he might had help. Joanna let him in.

“Why did Joanna let you in to my house?” McCoy asked, bitterly.

“Good morning, Leonard,” Came Spock’s deep, smooth voice. “You are in need of the Captaucio Soup.”

“I’m tired right now, not hungry,” McCoy said.

“Leonard, there is no time _not_ to eat.” McCoy’s eyes looked alarmed toward the Vulcan with both of his eyebrows raised.

“When did ya start callin’ me Leonard?” McCoy asked, slowly.

“When we are not on duty together. There is no need to be professional,” Spock slid a cold, small spoon into the doctor’s open mouth. “Close your mouth.” he slid the doctor’s chin up. “You are suffering from the  Captaucien Urglandai Bug Bite. Joanna has been visiting you weekly.”

“Weekly,” McCoy said. “What’s goin’ on?” the doctor yawned.

“You have been removed from the hospital just yesterday due to brain activity displaying your conscience returning from the brink. You had a feeding tube in your stomach for the past seven weeks,” Spock calmly explained. “It was trial and error to figure out how to stop the transformation from occurring. At first, you were left in a cold room for the first week. The illness grew stronger then until you were removed to a room with blinds. It took several weeks of observation watching the transformation reel back using  the venom to make a cure. We have many vials of the cure. Enough bowls to take care of the illness. It will take at least the end of this week to be well again.”

“Why don’t I just drink it from a glass?” McCoy asked.

“It was tried once,” Spock said. “the victim died,” McCoy heard the soft ding to the bowl. “open your mouth.”

McCoy obliged then swallowed the sip.

“Good god, how lon’ have ya been planet side?” McCoy asked. “Did ya make up with Jim?”

“That is none of your concern,” Spock said.

“Yes, it is,” McCoy said.

“Being concerned about the well being of others while you are getting well again is not good on your well being,” Spock said. “That is unnecessary stress that is not deserved.”

“And ya haven’t gone back to Vulcan,” McCoy said.

”That is a accurate assessment,” Spock said.

“Ya went back to him,” McCoy said. “whatever happened must have been bi’ to brin’ ya back together.”

“Open,” Spock said, then slid in another spoonful of the soup.  McCoy chewed what felt like soft tomato pieces and potato soft, solid pieces. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was. The soup was bitter. McCoy hated it. “and it was.”

“What was the turnin’ point?” McCoy asked. “What broke the barriers between y’all?”

“I do not feel it is one you would be inclined to know,” Spock said.

Spock looked back at the first week with  a pause.

The first week was disturbing.

The chances of the doctor’s survival going down by percentage by the passing hours as doctors rushed to find a solution against the clock to solve the problem. Jim had gone back into space taking the USS Yorktown and return to the planet where the mess had started. Mainly to learn the ingredients to save his friend and what was left of the security officers and science officers bitten by the bug. The Enterprise was under a refit helmed by Scott. Spock followed to make sure that the human didn’t get himself killed. Joanna was by the doctor’s side throughout that time. Spock resumed putting in the soup into the doctor’s mouth and watched him tiredly chew. The doctor’s bones were seemingly in the stages of reforming. New, healthy bones would replace them.

“If ya say so,” McCoy said. “What about Jim?”

“We take turns,” Spock said, “Jim believe it would be essential that you see me first. I believe seeing the admiral first would be more appropriate,” he slid in more of the content into the doctors mouth. “he will be here in the afternoon.”

“Aw, nice, takin’ care of me,” McCoy said, after chewing and swallowing. “Nice parallel of what I did for y’all.”

“It is the least we can do,” Spock said. 

 _We_ , the word repeated in McCoy's mind. _We_. It repeated once more.

"It is nice to hear that from ya," McCoy said. Spock tilted his head raising an eyebrow.

“Have you decided where you are going?” Spock changed the subject.

“Hmm. . not yet,” McCoy said. “Tired and all puts a damp on thin's."

“Leonard,” Spock insisted. “Do not waste any further energy by chatting.”

“I am tired,” McCoy said. “can’t ya let me sleep it off?”

“Sleeping it off will kill you and I do not want that,” Spock said. McCoy’s eyes slowly start to close. “You must stay.” Spock placed the hand on the doctor’s shoulder gaining a strong grip. McCoy's fluttering eyes looked at the Vulcan in confusion. Was he thinking that closing his eyes would be a death sentence? There was a good chance. And also, that the Vulcan did not want the southern old fashioned to leave. Not yet, at least.

“It is just some shut eye,” McCoy complained. “Some shut eye doesn’t hurt.”

“If you do not empty this bowl, it will hurt those you care,” Spock said.

“Jim would never get hurt with someone like ya by his side,” McCoy said. “y’all better off together without me.” Spock straightened his head staring at the doctor in realization. He understood why the doctor more clearly. His irrational fears, irrational logic, from head to toe, and most of all why the doctor seemed happy with his decision. Spock slowly cleared his throat.

“You believe that we don't need you?” Spock asked. There was that ' _we_ ' again. McCoy’s eyes bolted from the ceiling toward the Vulcan. "That is a illogical belief as Jim and  I cherish you," he slid in  more of the soup into the shocked doctor's mouth. "Quite dearly."

McCoy swallowed. It was either rest or whatever was in the soup, but the doctor’s will to talk was lost. Completely lost. However he had no trouble moving his mouth. McCoy noticed that he was tucked into bed completely unlike the way he had crashed onto it landing on his pillow. He didn’t reply long as the Vulcan continued feeding him. McCoy felt like he was being spoiled being treated like a baby as a patient. Spock placed the bowl onto the side of the counter where it lacked against the lamp.

“Tomorrow afternoon, you will be more awake,” Spock said. “and you _will_ continue this discussion with Jim.”

Spock picked up the tray then started to walk away. McCoy tried to reach his arm out toward the Vulcan’s shoulder to stop him in his tracks. His arm wouldn’t move. He was scared. Unable to move watching the Vulcan leave his line of sight headed in the direction of the kitchen. McCoy’s heavy eyes came to a gentle close and he was back into the darkness, thrown into a colorful familiar scenery. It was his house. But there was a shade of yellow within the house. As though there was a storm brewing inside his home. McCoy saw the colorful scenery replaced by the shade of greenish yellow. It didn't feel right. It terrified McCoy through and through. It was eerie and scary at once. The doctor looked around searching for Spock. The doctor went from room to room, "Spock? Spock? Mister Spock? Mr Spock?" His voice echoing around him as he finally came to the door that lead out of the house. He gripped onto the door then flew it open and bright light enveloped his vision.

* * *

“Good afternoon, Bones,” came Kirk’s familiar voice as the doctor's eyes opened.

“What the hell am I on?” McCoy asked.

“Medicine,” Kirk said. “Wait one moment,” McCoy heard a loud ding. “your soup is ready.”

Kirk stood up then made his way out of the room. He can feel his toes were aching. What had he stubbed his foot into before falling asleep? His fingers were aching, sore, just like the first time he had fallen asleep. It was like he didn't get a good nights rest at all. McCoy attempted to lift himself up the bed only his hands would not obey him. His fingers remained still by his side. He turned his head over hearing the familiar whistling. The heavy footsteps belonging to the captain---admiral coming his way.  McCoy could tell the layer of spider webs had decreased and the blurriness was softening giving the outlines of shapes with color. Slightly fuzzy not at all. It was looking at a cartoon that hadn’t come to focus. The admiral sat down onto the chair then scooted it over toward the doctors side.  McCoy’s stomach didn’t feel well.

“I feel sick,” McCoy said.

“Nope, that’s just the infection trying to sway you off from healing,” Kirk said. “open.“

McCoy opened his mouth.

“And there you go,” Kirk said, sliding it in.

“Why isn’t there nurses here to do this instead of you?” McCoy asked.

“I am currently suspended,” Kirk said. “I needed something to do.”

“Susp--” Kirk slid in another sip. “pended?”

“Nothing to worry about,”  Kirk said.

“Damn it, Jim, what exactly did ya do to make sure I came back?” McCoy asked, once he swallowed his fill.

“Well,” Kirk said. “You wouldn’t want to know.”

“I do,” McCoy said. Kirk slid in another. “We have to talk about this.”

“Says the bright eyed man who is alive because of me,” Kirk said. "I don't have to talk about this."

"Jim," McCoy insisted. "I am your friend." There was a pause from Kirk.

“I  stole a starship, I lied, I risked my career . . .” Kirk paused. “The planet was put on quarantine.”

“Jim,” McCoy said. “ya didn’t have to do that for little ol’ me. They dishonorably discharged ya.”

“I haven’t had the hearing yet,” Kirk said.

“Ya not goin’ without me,” McCoy said.

“Bones, Bones,” Kirk said. “You didn’t go with me.”

“I made it happen,” McCoy said. “Ya did it. Spock went with ya. . .”

“And Uhura was there,” Kirk added. Then he slipped in another portion int the man’s mouth. McCoy chewed then swallowed. “I risked the careers of what few friends I have. I won’t let you throw your career away for mine.”

“What if I want to?” McCoy asked, raising an arched eyebrow.

“I will do everything  I can to prevent you,” Kirk said.

“Just because I am sick does not mean it can stop me and neither can ya,” McCoy said.

“Really?” Kirk asked. “Bones, the hearing is at the end of this week. You need to rest your legs.”

“I will take a hover chair,” McCoy said.

“You’re not going,” Kirk said, sliding the contents of the bitter soup into the doctor’s mouth.  McCoy swallowed after chewing the pieces of ediable potato and the tomato pieces. It had to be some kind of diced tomato. A bitter one at that. McCoy frowned back at the admiral.

“Like hell I am,” McCoy said.

“I am your friend and friends take responsibilities for their actions,” Kirk said. “You did nothing. ." He placed a hand on the older man’s shoulder. “I am telling you this because I love you," the admiral gently squeezed the doctor's shoulder. "Don’t blame yourself over my discharge. Never do that.”

“I don’t want to continue _that_ conversation,” McCoy said.

“That we love you more than the Enterprise?” Kirk asked. “More than space?“

“I am a third wheel to your relationship,” McCoy said. “y’all don’t need a third wheel.”

Kirk tilted his head.

“We made it work with you,” Kirk said. “remember everything we did during shore leave during the past ten years?”

“Yes,” McCoy said, his attention turned toward the ceiling.

“How we did everything together and had fun?” Kirk asked.

“We were not datin’,” McCoy said.

“If you don’t feel like you are hanging with your best friend in a relationship then something is wrong about that,” Kirk said.

McCoy turned his head in the direction of the admiral.

"Ya measure a relationship by that?" McCoy asked.

"Always," Kirk said, with a nod then slipped the spoon into the dog’s mouth slipping in the contents.

“Hmph,” McCoy chewed then swallowed. 

“We’re always going to be there for you,” Kirk said. “whether we’re in a relationship or not. . . “ Kirk’s hand came to the doctor’s smaller, well aged hand that had fingernails well cut. Then squeezed the doctor’s hand. “You are never going to leave without a goodbye.”

“That’s not a bad way to live,” McCoy said.

Kirk smiled, in return, radiantly.

A smile that  McCoy could not see but only imagine in his mind.

* * *

The greenish-yellow room returned in his dream. McCoy got up off the bed  then stretched. His body felt better. His hands felt young and renewed. He rubbed his hands looking around the room. Perhaps what he had experienced earlier was a dream itself. He couldn’t be sure. He nearly toppled to his side feeling unwell. His stomach twisting. Ready to puke out what he had eaten earlier. He moved himself down the hall heading in the direction of the bathroom. He came to the toilet then knelt down in front of it and his mouth fell open puking it all out. He looked at the toilet that was a red and he wasn’t even done. He furiously puked out more of his soup then leaned back onto the floor, sickly and lethargic.

The lime green was sharp and clear unlike his visual.

The floor was cold and hard to his finger tips.

What was real and what wasn’t real?

Perhaps everything he had experienced earlier was a nonsensical dream.

McCoy  got up to his feet then walked down the hall hearing familiar voices.

“He shall be fine, Jim,” McCoy registered that as Spock’s voice.

“Spock?” McCoy called. "Why the hell are ya in my house? I didn’t invite ya in--”

The doctor took a turn into the kitchen to see Kirk resting on the counter with his forehead meeting Spock’s. Spock had his hands on the human’s face alongside the cheeks cupping them while the admiral’s hands were on the Vulcan’s sides. McCoy felt as though he were intruding on a very intimate moment. Invading on it, actually. He saw a collection of strange objects on the table with a jug of strangely colored water. Alongside it were three small vials of  liquid. The labels were indistinguishable. The two men became silent taking in each other’s comfort. Kirk closed his eyes allowing himself to melt to the Vulcan’s touch. Spock regarded the admiral in a way that he always did. Admiration, humbled, honored, and treasured. McCoy slowly stepped back out of the room. They were talking about him. They would have noticed that he had entered the kitchen. There was only one logical answer.

He was dreaming, he was dreaming, he was dreamin--

* * *

McCoy's elbow, arm, lower legs, and his hands were aching.

It was partially lit in the apartment.

He looked over to see there was no one by the side of the bed.

Could he be _still_ dreaming?

Plausibly and plausibly not.

The doctor had a distinctive feeling that he had something in his arms.  Pressed against his side, they were small and circular. Like little pods. Side effect of the illness? The doctor had no way to be certain. The dreams, the lime green shade, and being able to move in them. Perhaps that was, too, a side effect of getting better. It was as though someone had botched a transplant for his body in some manner and his body was having a difficult time accepting it. More so as that he had ran a marathon all day and his body needed rest.  He wanted to rest, and yet, he could not. McCoy looked over toward his arms with a little strands of visually impairing blockage. He distinctively can see the shapes. That looked like they were moving. Then it felt something was piercing through his skin. A sharp pain jolted through his body. He wanted to clench onto the bed. Fall out all together and cry in agony while curled in a ball. 

The doctor screamed in pain, loudly, feeling the little legs clawing into his skin. 

They were squeaking rather than a continuous singular terrifying screech.

McCoy would have laughed how cute and funny yet terrifying it was.

He didn't have the state of mine to do so.

Some of them were painfully, slowly, wiggling out of his arms.

The door flew open to his house, loudly, as tears were stinging the side of the man's eyes. It felt like this pain would kill him. The bugs would kill him first before the pain was gone. Was this how he was going to die? Painfully? Not  a big glorious act of sacrifice to save the people he loved? It wasn’t fair. This was going to kill him. He heard a series of boots running featuring some tumbling to the floor then phaser firing. McCoy felt something busting from the side of his cheek. Painfully. The bright lights turned on. Terrified insect screaming filled the room  then there was phaser firing. The agony he was feeling overwhelmed the doctor bringing him out. The only thing he saw this time around was a sea of darkness. The sounds of insect screaming and phaser firing slowly died out in the room.

* * *

“Leonard,” Spock’s voice came from the fog. “Leonard," it was more of a plea. A firm hand placed on McCoy's shoulder. “ _Leonard._ ”

McCoy’s eyes fluttered open.

“Spock?” It came out as a groan.

“I am here,” the familiar deep, rich voice comforted the doctor.

There was a thin layer of what seemed to be a gray silk blocking his vision. His visual was still as grainy and blurry as possible. Not clear like a crystal. He can see the blurring shape of the Vulcan by the side of his bed. McCoy felt the bed compress as the Vulcan sat on the edge of it. McCoy can imagine the concerned look on the Vulcan’s face. Anything similar to concern. Like the time he was dying by Xenopolycythemia and other instances where he had contracted something. He didn’t see to know. Spock’s hand was on the human’s shoulder. The doctor’s eyes winced.

“How do you feel?” Spock asked.

“‘Sore, really sore,” McCoy said. “I had a bad dream that  insects hatched out of me.”

“That was not a dream,” Spock said, taking his hand off the human's shoulder.

“And that I puked,” McCoy stated.

“That part never happened, doctor,” Spock said. The formal way of being addressed by Spock seemingly eased the southern belle.

“Funny how they started hatchin’ after I puked in my sleep,” McCoy said.

“You did not puke on the bed,” Spock said.  “Had you done so,  I would have smelled it.”

“I don’t feel that sick anymore.” McCoy said.

“Tired?” Spock asked.

“Uh huh,”  McCoy said. “Did ya tell Jim?”

“I do not believe it would be logical to tell him at this point,” Spock said. “Your house is being fumigated. You are staying in the medical quarters that has been edited for your accommodations.”

“No soup?” McCoy asked.

“You cannot escape the soup,” Spock said.

“Damn,” McCoy said. “Here I thought I was scot free,” the doctor laughed. “how lon’ will the fumigation take?”

“A day,” Spock said. “it is very thorough.”

“Nuh,” McCoy said. “and Jim doesn’t know ya left the house.”

“I sent him on a days worth of a errand,” Spock said.

“What kind of errand?” McCoy inquired.

“Out in space, errand, doctor,” Spock said.  “Vulcan errand.  I gave him directions in ShiKahr that would take him hours to follow.” 

The Vulcan turned his head in the direction of the nurse as McCoy laughed all heartedly.  McCoy couldn’t hear what the Vulcan had said. The aching from when he had woke up earlier was still there but there were specific points in his body that ached as though something had physically came out of the bones.  A sore part in his bone. McCoy gradually began to stop laughing. He turned his head in the direction of Spock resting on the biobed. The room was bright. Very bright and warm. He was sweating. He wasn't as lethargic as earlier or exhausted. McCoy was tired. A good short twenty minute nap. The nurse's footsteps came nearby and handed something to the Vulcan who gave her a small thank you. McCoy was surprised that Kirk hadn't been notified and sped his way over, highly alarmed and concerned. The first thing Kirk would have done was come to Spock's side like a magnet and get filled in then put a hand on the Vulcan's shoulder.

"How much of the insects are out?" McCoy asked.

"I was able to kill most of them at some cost to your body," Spock said. "Most of the burns were treated after our arrival to the hospital."

"Ow," McCoy said. "glad I wasn't awake then."

"It was fortunate," Spock said. "had I not been there you would have died of pain."

"Theoretically," McCoy said.

"Not theoretically, it is fact," Spock said. "It happened to one of the previous patients."

"Oh my god," McCoy said, with a shudder. His initial thought had been true. McCoy was grateful.

"You should now be experiencing four hour resting period today," Spock said. "Then you need two bowls each day for the remainder of the week."

"Four hours is really specific, Spock," McCoy said.

"Open," Spock said, then spilled a spoonful of the soup into the doctor's mouth. The scientist carefully wiped off what had spilled down the doctor’s mouth with a napkin.  "You shall be able to feed yourself within the week without help."  McCoy chewed glancing off toward the Vulcan.

"Will I be able to walk?" McCoy asked.

"The other patients never reached that far," Spock said.

"I am the only survivor from a handful  of people?" McCoy asked, in dismay.

"Yes," Spock replied. "Their deaths were not in vain." he slid in another spoonful. The doctor chewed then swallowed.

"Did ma visit?" McCoy asked.

"Extensively, from what your daughter said," Spock said. "She was there when Jim and I came to your bedside."

"Good," McCoy said, relaxed. "Someone was there to comfort her."

"Jim did the talking," Spock said, then took another spoonful out of the bowl.

"That is reassurin'," McCoy said, between chewing. "He always knows what to say."

Spock placed the spoon into the bowl leaving a long string of silence.

“Spock?” McCoy said, alarmed. “What’s wron'?”

Spock sighed, looking over toward the doctor.

“There are times where he doesn’t know what to say,” Spock said. “I saw one of those at the end of the first week. By your bedside.” McCoy could imagine the young man by his bed side looking over in concern. Spock approaching the captain then coming to his side. McCoy briefly closed his eyes, disturbed by the visual of Kirk appearing to be so lost. So unsure and uncertain of the future. McCoy didn't want that to ever happen, again, when it came to his friend. Kirk would again face that uncertainty but not over McCoy.

"Say," McCoy began, opening his eyes. "Am I gonna have diarrhea because of this bitter soup?"

Spock picked up the spoon.

"There is a chance," Spock said, sliding the spoon's contents into the doctor's mouth.  The doctor began to chew. "You are not experiencing the urge pee lately as there has been a contraption added to your body that takes care of it."

McCoy reached his hand out grabbing hold on to the Vulcan's wrist.

 _Thank you_.

Spock experienced the human's gratitude. Just for being there and explaining what was going on. It was as though he were being hugged in the way it was delivered mentally.  " _Why_ , _ya_ wouldn't _know what to do_ with a genuine, _warm_ , _decent feelin'_." echoed back in his mind. It was true then and still true. Spock didn't know what else to do except: accept it. Spock had a small nod toward the doctor placing the bowl onto the counter alongside. He felt the man's forehead feeling a fever coming in. McCoy could have sworn that he was seeing the Vulcan smile in his eyes. Knew that the doctor's body was fighting back again at full speed against whatever was getting weaker. His body was winning. McCoy's grip on the Vulcan's wrist let go falling onto his side. Spock slid in another portion to the soup into the doctor's mouth. He used the napkin to clean off the doctor's running nose. Then Spock resumed feeding the human.

* * *

McCoy’s eyes slowly fluttered open. There was a shade of lime green in the hospital room. McCoy slid off the biobed. His feet landed on the cold, bitter floor. McCoy rubbed his shoulders. The sound of carts being wheeled were filling his ears. Even though no one was there. He was dreaming again. He looked over to see the empty bowl on the counter behind a empty seat.  There was no one there. McCoy looked over toward the bowl to see pieces of tomato were inside the green bowl. He made his way down the hall while rubbing his shoulders.  

"Hello?" McCoy called. "Anyone there?"

The inside of his mouth was bitter.

The soup tended to make his mouth feel that way after finishing it off.

"Spock?" McCoy called. "Jim? Anyone?”

McCoy came to the nurses station where he saw two nurse like figure speaking, one was behind the counter and the other was leaning against it. Their voices sounded like gibberish. A foreign language that was not being translated. It was times like these that he wished that he had a dream translator. McCoy walked over in the direction of the two women. He approached the two women as the atmosphere turned eerie and dark. The hallway became a shade of dimly lit lime green. McCoy came to a stop at the station. The women stopped talking.

“Hello there, ladies,” McCoy said. “How are y’all?”

"Kor-kar Eur-tue leng-tur,” the first nurse turned her head in the direction of the doctor. 

The woman’s face was distorted, alien-like, rather than human.

"Yut-huh bahy?" the second nurse asked.

She had a pig like nose, her blonde hair kept in a bun, and her bright blue eyes stared back at him. Both of the women’s faces had ridges on their foreheads and on their cheeks. Their lips were curved in such a way that it was peculiar. McCoy staggered back with a scream falling onto his ass. McCoy stood up then ran off from the two women speeding down the hall. The hall narrowed. Every time he turned his head in the direction of another corridor, he saw people like them in crowds gathering. Unlike his encounter with the women, the color was black and white. McCoy sped down the hall. He swore when he felt around for a phaser and didn’t find one. He wasn’t serving in Star Fleet or on a away mission for that fact so he was not equipped with a phaser. On most away missions, McCoy had been given a phaser with his knapsack containing medical tools he would need namely hyposprays of different uses. He was used to having a phaser on him when he was scared. A bad habit that had to be shaken off in time.  McCoy looked over his shoulder to see that a lone warped face doctor chasing after him with a hypospray in hand.

McCoy looked over to see a window ahead of him.

It was the only way to wake him up.

No one could die in dreams. 

McCoy leaped through the window crashing out of the building free-falling.

"Wake up, wake up, wake up!" McCoy shielded his eyes. "Come on!"

* * *

McCoy’s eyes bolted open to see the familiar light gray scenery about the room, and this time sat a familiar woman sitting by his bed in a chair reading a padd. It was his former head nurse, Christine Chapel, with dark brown braided hair that suited her. The last five years had changed her blonde hair to brown. The doctor relaxed with an audible sigh. Chapel looked up from the thick padd. He had feeling in his shoulders and from both of his legs up to his thighs. McCoy attempted to lift up his arm only succeeding in holding his hand up above the bedding briefly.

“Good morning, sleepy head,” Chapel said. “Fever is still up.”

“Another trial of nightmares. . .” McCoy groaned. “They’re terrifyin’.”

“They tend to be that way,” Chapel said.

“I never really thought they were that bad,” McCoy said. “My ignorance.”

“When was the last time you had a fever dream?” Chapel asked.

“When I was a youn’ man in Mississippi University.” the doctor had a fond expression.

“Mr Spock is currently away on business,” Chapel said, picking up a steaming bowl. McCoy was no longer blinded by the light gray stranded but only fuzzy colors. He can see the shapes of heat above the bowl.

“Has to do with science?” McCoy said.

“No,” Chapel said. “He is talking to your doctors."

"Medical science is a science, nurse," McCoy said.

"You had some of the insects removed from your brain an hour ago,” McCoy grew a disturbed expression on his face. “He is working on a way to send the cure into your brain to kill the rest off."

"So I am not cured?" McCoy asked.

"You are currently in the process of _being_ cured," Chapel said. "The body is absorbing the cure in the way it is being delivered but the brain is a different story. Scans show you have another pocket left inside a part of your brain that should be proven lethal should they hatch. What he is making will kill the hatchlings before they even hatch and dissolve them." It sounded rehearsed. As though she had repeated it over and over. The words sounded a lot like what Spock would explain, calmly and methodically.

“Ah,” McCoy said. “I see. Does Jim know?”

“Not even aware,” Chapel said. “It’s best he doesn’t know.” McCoy nodded in agreement.

“Trying to create a safe, executable way to save my life,” McCoy said. “Think I owe him one." He opened his mouth and let the woman slide the contents into his mouth.

"You do," Chapel said, in agreement. 

McCoy chewed then swallowed.

“How is your wife?” McCoy asked.

“Concerned,” Chapel said.  McCoy kindly smiled back.

“Tell her that I am fine,” McCoy said. “ _and_ that she should expect a visit from me at the beginnin’ of next week. If she is still on Earth.”

“Nyota has not been given a notice regarding her next assignment,” Chapel said. “she is part of the hearing.”

McCoy’s face turned to dismay.

“Her too?” McCoy asked.

“Doctor, she is going to demote  if anything,” Chapel said. “it’s not going to be significant on her record.”

She slid in more of the soup into the doctors mouth. McCoy chewed, slowly, thinking. He had that distinct look on his face. A look when he was thinking about something that he shouldn’t and he felt guilty about it. Gradually, the guilty look was replaced by careful consideration. Whatever he was thinking of had become quite appealing. The doctor swallowed the sip of soup down. Christine slipped in another spoonful. Christine leaned back against the chair with a heavy heart. She knew McCoy too well for her own good. Knowing what he wanted to do was sometimes an advantage rather than a disadvantage. She was conflicted between helping him and persuading him from doing his idea. She wasn’t exactly pleased about the admiral’s court martial doing the right thing. Even if she did, he wouldn’t listen. It seemed only reasonable. Chapel was defeated.

"Somethin' botherin' ya, Nurse," McCoy said.

"Yes," Chapel said. "If you got an idea to stop the court martial proceedings from happening, I am more than willing to help you."

"Ya gonna need to collaborate my testimony," McCoy said.

"And the Kirk's?" Chapel asked.

"Gimmie a theater that doesn't list times on lon' plays at the entrance," McCoy said. "And a lon' ass play."

Christine grew a wide smile in return.

"I know just the two," Chapel said.

* * *

Spock leaned against the doorway with his arms folded.

Fortune favors the bold, and Spock was a very fortunate Vulcan.

The procedure could have ended differently.

The operation had required peeling away layers of the human’s skin then opened the skull and putting in a long comfortable hypospray into the brain. The evident hiss heard in the room by the surgeons. Spock had watched the surgery from above with rapid attention. His eyes were on the screen watching the doctor resting. Uhura and Chapel by both of the Vulcan's sides. McCoy been awake long enough to see the small group through the glass window. It was the last thing he had seen before falling back asleep. Pavel and Hikaru were out in space assuming different commands; Pavel on the Reliant, and Hikaru was on a federation colony on a plant assignment. They had wished they were able to attend the procedure. The doctor was breathing, inhaling and exhaling. His chest going up and down. There was a series of gentle knocks against the door that were loud and insistent. Spock turned around then made his way toward the door. Spock opened it up to see the admiral holding a collection of packages in his arms steadying them by holding a knee up keeping a gambling balancing act against gravity. The packages and Kirk fell forward in tow. The two men crashed to the ground with a heavy thud and the boxes surrounded the two men.

“Sorry, Spock,” Kirk said. “I got the errands done.”

“It is all right, Jim,” Spock replied, organizing the boxes around him into their little stacks against the wall. “the Vulcan Culture class will greatly appreciate the donations.”

“Your storage unit was very difficult to find,” Kirk said. “Taking warp five to get there and back, let me just say, it was almost not worth finding it,” he rolled his pantleg up to show the bug bites. Spock nodded his head in understanding. Vulcan insects were a pest and intimidating for humans. “Fortunately, my father-in-law showed up.”

“I did not call him,” Spock said.

“I know,” Kirk said. “Where do I put this?”

“On the table to the right,” Spock said.

“Hm,” Kirk said. “This smells good. Did you make pie and didn’t tell me?”

“No, it was a housewarming gift from Uhura,” Spock said, using his boot to put aside a spray can that was labeled with ‘apple pie scent refreshener’. “I shall leave a slice for you next time this happens.”

Spock directed the human to the dining room then picked up a stack of boxes himself and followed after the human. They placed the boxes onto the table carefully. Spock overheard a mew from one of them and noticed that one of the boxes had two large holes. Spock looked toward the circular holes then toward the admiral raising an eyebrow who was smiling right back.

“I thought Bones would need a companion,” Kirk said. “So I went in and got a special gift.”

“You retrieved the equivalent of a bear cub,” Spock said.

“Uh huh,” Kirk said, with a delighted nod. “Isn’t that great?”

“A _bear_ cub,” Spock repeated.

“Wait,” Kirk said, as it struck him. “It’s a bear?”

Spock gingerly opened the box then picked up a moving dark brown furball with four squirming legs that mewed.

“A sehlat," the lion like bear cub mewed. "The maximum sehlat food for a adult sehlat will hurt his back.”

“He won’t tug it in,” Kirk said.

“You know Leonard better than that,” Spock said, holding the sehlat cub in his arms. “I believe this animal will be at home in a wider space,” Kirk rubbed his chin. “Your desire to make the doctor feel better is appreciated.”

“I will get him a cat,” Kirk said.

“No arguments,” Spock said.

“Not even a little?” Kirk asked, in disbelief.

“Not at all, Jim,” Spock said. “Cats are known to help ill individuals get better after resting on their chest. Their purrs help the bones recover quicker including the muscles. Purring promotes healing.” Kirk had a fond, loving look on his face listening to the man. As though Kirk were reminded why he fell in love with the Vulcan in the first place. "Or should I get the cat? I have overstayed my shift."

"Spock," Kirk said, placing a hand onto the Vulcan's shoulder who gently stroked the cub in his arms. "it is all right."

Kirk held his two fingers out for Spock and the gesture was, without hesitation, returned.

“Leonard shall awaken in a hour,” Spock said, linking his hand behind his back.

“That is early than usual,” Kirk said.

“It is,” Spock agreed. “He is getting closer to recovery.”

“Really?” Kirk asked, his face glowing with hope.

“I also acquired a book for you,” Spock said, sliding out a thick novel from behind. “you will need this when he falls into one of his fever dreams unexpectedly.

“He has a fever,“ Kirk grew a concerned look taking the thick novel. It was large and heavy with a hard back cover and hard back end. “Is that bad or good news?”

“Good news,” Spock said. “The Immune System is aggressively fighting back with help from the bacteria in the soup and the cure," Spock placed the sehlat cub into the box. "He was up for eight hours yesterday. Longer than a human with a fever normally should be awake.”

“He is stubborn,” Kirk said, nodding back.

“I shall take the sehlat to a more suitable destination,” Spock said, picking up the box. “and get the cat.”

“Don’t keep us waiting,” Kirk said, placing his hands on the Vulcan’s larger green hands. Kirk’s hazel eyes were stuck on the Vulcan’s brown ones. He held his two fingers out with his other three fingers curled back against the palm of his hand. Kirk’s fingers gently slid against the Vulcan’s long fingers.  Kirk’s hands slowly reached back from the Vulcan who simply gave a curt nod.

Spock stepped aside then made his way out of the dining room. Kirk watched the  Vulcan leave the house. He went into the kitchen where he saw the neatly organized ingredients on a tray. The recipe had to be made fresh each time rather than being preserved. Adding preservatives was non-negotiable. They had lost a patient by putting it into the replicator instead of making it in the 21st century manner. As it turned out, the bitterness was a sign that the medicine was working. There was only a specific type of vegetable that worked well with the anti-venom. Kirk took out a bowl and whistled to himself. It had been four days, and now they were nearing the end of the week. The fifth day. To think he looked forward to the end of the week when his friend would be out of the woods. And. . . The hearing was tonight. A trade that was well worth the sacrifice. He turned on the microwave then set on the clock. It took only a few minutes to make the soup. He brought the book with him into the doctor’s room.

Kirk came into the doctor’s room. He noticed the laundry of this morning placed on the counter to the left of the doctor. It was their system to taking care of McCoy, dressing him and undressing him, every day. The clothes on the right were fresh attire. He checked the urination system that indicated McCoy had peed before falling asleep. McCoy was laid on his side, snoring away. Kirk turned over McCoy flat on his back. McCoy had the visible imprint of his hand placed against the left side of his cheek. Kirk smoothed out the blanket. The doctor softly snored. Kirk planted his fingers against McCoy's neck to detect his pulse was going smoothly. Kirk put his hand onto the man's forehead. McCoy had a steady fever occurring. Kirk dabbed away the sweat going down the man's face. He had seen the doctor ill many times in his command, and now off his command, it was jarring. He admired the resting southern brushing aside the loose curls. Kirk picked up a comb then brushed aside the hair into a familiar curly shape. Kirk smiled to himself. At rest, McCoy looked beautiful and peaceful. Kirk leaned his back against the chair then picked up the novel.

Spock returned that afternoon without a cat. McCoy understood that Spock frankly forgot about the cat because he was only thinking of returning to the house to meet up with Kirk and make their farewells for the time being. A endearing characteristic of the Vulcan. The original plan still firmly planted in the Vulcan's mind. Spock promised that on his next visit there will be a cat given to him. McCoy didn't know if it was for emotional support or for helping him deal with his insect trauma. McCoy was struggling to stay awake. His eyes fighting back at the urge to fall back down. There was a empty bowl laid on the counter beside him on top of a large thick book with a red bookmark. Sock was dressed in his evening wear laid with his arms folded, a stoic expression on his face, yet his eyes were that of warmth looking at the two humans.

“Jim, please, go reward yourself tonight,” McCoy said. “Before ya go to the hearin’. Includin’ ya, Mr Spock.”

Kirk turned in the direction of Spock sharing a knowing look then they turned their attention on to the doctor.

“We have been rewarding ourselves, doctor,” Spock said.

“There is nothing else we can imagine ourselves doing while waiting for the hearing,” Kirk elaborated, placing  his hand onto the doctor’s smaller hand.

“Jim, Spock,” McCoy took Kirk’s slightly larger hand with his left hands. “I love y’all, deeply and sometimes I had to make sacrifices for ya well bein’,” His shoulder ached from moving it impromptly. Not used to being moved at all. “Ya can reward me by doin’ one last thin’ as my colleagues . . Goin’ out to a Kasseelian Opera.”

“If you insist,” Kirk said.

“Did Nurse Chapel tell you everything?” Spock asked.

“Uh huh and y’all be mistaken if I didn’t repay for that,” McCoy said. “Consider it my payment.”

“As you wish,” Spock said.

McCoy squeezed Kirk’s hand.

“Enjoy while it lasts, plumb,” McCoy said.

“Oh, I will, _doctor_ ,” Kirk said, teasingly.  McCoy let go of the admiral’s hand. “I can’t believe you plotted with Nurse  Chapel to pamper us and take over until this fever runs out.”

“She feels bad about it too,” McCoy said. “We all feel better in the lon’ run.”

**Knock knock knock.**

“That must be her,” Spock said. “We shall see you tomorrow.” Spock held the ta’al out.

Kirk moved the man’s fingers into position then McCoy held his hand up.

“Have fun,” McCoy said.

"You as well," Spock said, as Kirk came to the Vulcan's side. Then they turned away and headed down the hall.

The smile faded from McCoy's face watching the two headed down toward the hall leaving his life. This time, on a better note. McCoy closed his eyes then reopened them. Spock started to turn in his direction. McCoy had his elbow planted onto the bedding with his hand still up except waving from side to side. Spock regarded the human then turned away as Chapel entered the house standing to the side. The two men exited through the door. Christine closed the door behind her then took out a small stick. She came down the hall walking as though she wasn't in a rush. McCoy's hand lowered and his fingers moved back into their regular position. She came in front of the door then swung the stick forward making it take on a cane's appearance. She came over to the doctor's side.  McCoy lifted himself up then turned on the edge of the bed.

"Got the evidence?" McCoy  asked, tiredly.

"I got the evidence," Chapel said. "You really want to go through with this?"

"I do," McCoy said.  "You're the best head nurse I ever had."

"And you are the most exceptional surgeon I served alongside," Chapel said.

"Hey," McCoy said. "you am not the one going on a limb."

"But it is true," Chapel said. "Mr Spock said that your brain might have memory loss as a side effect for the next months recovering from the illness and I doubt that your skills as surgeon will be impaired," he looked up toward her with one hand on his knee appearing to be touched by the woman. "I thought you should know before we don't have a chance serving on the same assignment."

"You will make a great doctor," McCoy said. "Now how does this cane work again?"

"Using the cane in the hand opposite your weakness shifts your body weight to the stronger side," Chapel said. "For the stairs. ."

“Up with the good, down with the bad," McCoy and Chapel said.

"Yes, doctor," Chapel handed the cane into the man's hand.

McCoy pressed himself up.

"Let's get goin'," McCoy said. "I have a payment to make."

"Sonic shower, then we go," Chapel said. "Hate for a stench to intrude your testimony."

* * *

"That was a excellent opera," Kirk said, with a arm wrapped around the Vulcan's shoulder.

"It had a lot of soul," Spock agreed.  "I enjoyed it immensely." Kirk looked toward the star filled sky with a smile. He noticed  the blue sky with its familiar clouds were gone. The smile faded from the admiral’s face.

"Oh no," Kirk said. "we're late for the hearing.”

Spock looked up toward the sky.

"It appears we are," Spock said.

“Come on, Spock,” Kirk said. “Let’s get to the hearing.”

The scene panned over to a Court Martial room.  McCoy walked out the room walking on his weak leg. He rested his back against the wall. He was in his formal star fleet uniform  that felt tight against his figure. McCoy unzipped his blue shirt sliding the zipper down to the center. McCoy’s lethargic eyes briefly closed then reopened. Demoted from Lieutenant Commander to Ensign. Which in all fairness, was deserved for the evidence that had been presented. Ignoring bug bites after leaving from the Captaucien planet, not reporting them, and not informing the senior officers that there may be bugs from a different world crawling through the air vents or the floor. Instructing Chapel not to inform the captain of it, and various other nurses, as he thought they wouldn’t harm a thing as boots would have crushed them.

McCoy’s logs were evidence enough that he had done dereliction of duty. Countless people were dead and he was alive. The only punishment that the three Star Fleet officers settled on was demotion. Being able to live with the fact that he was responsible for the death of people was punishment enough for McCoy. In all fairness, McCoy felt better. A weight off his shoulders. It had been worth the hearing. His fever wasn’t making him sweat anymore. McCoy straightened himself then made his way down the hall. A woman appeared from the corner of the hall then caught the unsteady doctor steadying him. McCoy smiled, placing a hand on to her shoulder recognizing her with a smile. Her once long elaborate hair style now a short bowl like hair cut.

“Hello there, Janice,” McCoy said.

“Len,” Rand said. “you’re unwell. Why are you not resting?”

“I had some unfinished business to attend up here,” McCoy said. “I got an assignment to be headin’ in the next hour and I need some help gettin’ there."

"Let me help you to the shuttle bay," Rand said.

"Thank ya," McCoy said, as she helped him down the packed hall. 

* * *

McCoy stirred in his sleep, his snoring beginning to fade. His eyes fluttered open feeling lethargic. There was a distinct fog lingering in his mind. There was no lime green in his vision. He heard purring, and snoring, at once, feeling two pressed warm bodies against him. McCoy at first began to grow alarmed. He pressed himself up on the bed then rubbed his eyes twice. He saw two figures lumped along him. How did that happen? Last he recalled was leaving Star Base one for an assignment at Alpha Centauri. He managed to crawl out of bed then over to a padd on the table that was still glowing looking at it with perplexity. It was a note. To himself. McCoy scanned the padd confused as he read it over. Three years? Spock and Kirk bonded? It was supposed to be six months worth of forgetting and then remembering not years.

His heart dropped.

Oh dear.

“Boooones,” Kirk groaned. “Come back to bed.”

_If you’re reading this, then you might be suffering side effects of the illness from three years ago._

_It’ll last, relax._

_Go back to sleep._

_No, it’s not dementia stop thinking that Leonard!_

_Apparently it’s long term._

_They know what you did._

“Comin’, sweetie,” McCoy said.

_And oh, we’re married to them.  It’s going to be a long time before we reach our old rank. You’re an ensign. You’re in space to make sure their shakedown cruise for the refit Enterprise goes smoothly and return to Earth. Then back to our old assignment, whatever it is, it doesn't have insects crawling around. They have no idea that you are still suffering side effects. I’m sorry, been meaning to tell them that, but. . . we don’t need to burden them with our problems until we can fix that. Been working on that for the past two years. Medication doesn’t work. Delete this as soon as you see it and replace it with a note to your self regarding your cat._

"I don't have a cat," McCoy muttered to himself.

McCoy heard a meow.

_Now you have one._

McCoy looked over to see a pair of blue eyes staring back at him.

_Love, you._

“Booones,” Kirk whined.

McCoy deleted what was on the padd then replaced it with: _rename stupid cat to Damn it._

"Comin'," McCoy said, tiredly.

McCoy slid into bed then felt Kirk's arm wrapped around his thinner waist. Spock's arm went to the other side. McCoy unexpectedly felt a comforting warmth that seemed to be filled in what was emotionally love. McCoy can hear Spock's voice in his mind, "Ashayam," with a deep cat like purr. Speaking of a cat, the cat was now sitting on the foot of the bed between McCoy's legs. The bright blue cat eyes gradually closed on him. Everything was all right, he didn't know how it was all right with them, but it was. Did they chase after him? McCoy wouldn't know. In all likelihoods, they did. Only after prying through star fleet confidential records or squeezing them out of a certain admiral who had given what McCoy wanted easily (Admiral Nogura, obviously) by blackmailing him for what he manipulated Kirk in his emotional state of mind into. McCoy was being warmed by two tired Star Fleet officers. Completely happy, and alive. That was better than having a blanket. McCoy's heavy eyes closed.

**The End.**

**Author's Note:**

> Shorter than 'What doesn't ail you makes you stronger' as a short story. Started out as " _McCoy is very tired and ooc and goes home, wakes up to find Spock and Kirk taking care of him. McCoy can see red strings of fate and had earlier cut his red string off from Spock and Kirk in the previous five year mission. The red string grows back_ " but morphed into this. As I said, lazy brain. Worked on this when I felt lazy. To give it the tired, lazy lethargic aesthetic. Took place in the late 2270's where the TMP takes place LATER. 2279, precisely.


End file.
